Radio Free Upperton
by Planet Telex
Summary: AU, Ron lives with his bandmates and fronts their prospering Upperton indie band as life slowly begins falling into place. Major Ron-centric drama/romance. Will you like it? You will love it. K/S, K/R, F/K, ongoing. Rated M for language, sexual themes


Disclaimer: I do not nor will I ever own the television property Kim Possible or all characters therein.

All right, shall we begin?

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Chapter One – Introducing The Band

_Upon the darkness of the wall opposite the bed, her shadow is cast._

_Moans and shallow breaths bounce off the walls like ricocheting rounds, turning the room around them into a hot, strangling echoplex._

_Hair of ember swings from shoulder to shoulder as sweat slowly trickles down her gyrating body._

_Beneath the moaning beauty, Ron is gritting his teeth and thrusting with all his might._

_Any and all light is drowned out by their shirts draped over the lampshade._

_His hands are gripping her rotating hips; hard enough to suggest control but soft enough to imply tender gentleness._

_Her freshly-manicured nails alternate between clutching her own breasts and digging into the man's chest, an act of ardent passion unlike any Ron has felt in a long time._

_For a split second her moans stop. Her breath is caught in her throat and a shaking pulse runs through her legs; her toes clenching in effect._

_She gasps and then softly whimpers in bliss._

_He stops thrusting for that moment to watch her climax._

_But just that moment._

_Long into the night they have already come and into the next morning they will continue—_

"RON!" And like that, a familiar voice shattered the blonde's mental window into a world of otherworldly ecstasy and he found himself tumbling back into consciousness. With great disappointment, it shouldn't need be added.

"Uhhh... and that was such a good dream..."

Sitting up in his bed was the previously dreaming Ron Stoppable, a young man in his twenties currently struggling to comprehend the circumstances surrounding his awakening. Taking a cockeyed glance out the window, he confirmed that it was half past... nighttime. Ron briefly wondered how much he had to drink the previous night, and cursed himself for not scaling back the celebration after his band's well-received show the night before.

"You know, Felix," he began, addressing the wheelchair-bound best friend to his right, "Last time I checked it was perfectly acceptable to be asleep when the sun was down." Looking up to the greasy-haired bass player at the foot of his bed, Ron continued, "Hell Tim, I've seen you sleep in to the nighttime also, so don't be accusing me of any sort of lazy—"

"—We're playing in half an hour. Get up."

Felix's words shut Ron up for the ten seconds it took him to register what had been said.

Ron briefly wondered if he had forgot about a scheduled gig, but knew that he would never forget something like that. "...I'm sorry, what? We're playing?"

Adam Winters, the impatient keyboard player to Ron's left, sighed and answered, "Yes Ron, we're playing. It's that Strutt gig, and it's at eleven." The man held up the clock beside the bed and pointed out the time. "It's 10:20 now, and we'd like to be there early enough for a quick sound check."

"So if you'd like to get your ass up and dressed," Felix continued. "We'd be eternally thankful."

Ron looked as if he was firing on all cylinders and coming up short. "But... I thought..."

With another sigh, Adam cut in again. "Artificial Woman bailed out on the slot, so we got the call to fill in. Seriously Ron, we HAVE TO GO—"

"—So we're... we're..." Ron's eyes widened with startled realization. "We're opening for Triggers In Leash?" The words came as a dribbled whisper, Ron lost in his own world of disbelief and dumbfounded comprehension.

Felix smiled. This was the reaction he had been dying to see ever since the band had first failed to acquire the career-making gig two weeks earlier. Knowing full well that opening for the hottest Upperton band would make a turn of fortune for their own group, Ron had tried desperately to get the slot in their name. He spent days outside the club-owner's office waiting for him to finally give the young man a chance at staking his band's claim. He e-mailed, plastered posters outside the club, left a fresh copy of the group's demo with his secretary every lunch break. Short of meeting the man outside his house—which Ron _had_ considered before being talked out of the potential stalking accusation by his fellow bandmates—Ron had done every single thing he could possibly thing of to get the group onto that stage before Triggers. His admittance of defeat produced a melancholic sigh heard the whole city round.

"Yes Ron. We're going to open for Triggers In Leash." Ron smiled back at Felix like a child on Christmas morning.

"Which makes it all the more important that you get your SILLY ASS INTO GEAR!" Adam's words finally shook Ron from his momentary daze, prompting the blond to leap from his bed and dash off into his bathroom with a single word hanging in the air behind him.

"BOO-YAH!"

After less than a minute of teeth-brushing and hair-combing, Ron emerged half-naked from his threshold of personal upkeep.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Whatarewegoingtoplay? Dowehaveallofourgearreadytogo? Holyshitholyshit! Dowehaveasetlistready?" Ron's mind was a frantic flurry of questions and cautious paranoia, resulting in a rambling series of questions that shot out at his friends like phonetic buckshot. Flying over the heads of Adam and Tim, who—while having known and played with him for over a year now—still weren't close enough to comprehend Ron in panic-mode, Felix picked up the acknowledgment slack.

"We were thinking we'd just re-use the set list from last night. The gear is all packed up in the van outside. We even grabbed your Jazzmaster—" Felix rolled over and placed his hand on Ron's shoulder, the blond having been tearing through his laundry pile for a clean-enough pair of pants as if he were fighting a losing battle on a frenetic game show. The calming gesture stopped Ron in his tracks. "Ron, it'll be okay. You're going to do great."

"And you won't let us down, Mr. Front-and-Center," Tim's meek voice offered from across the room. He knew something about low self-esteem in the face of courageous demand. But Ron was his friend, and he believed in his vocal skills. He believed in Ron's playing and knew that he wouldn't let them down.

The two supporting friends looked over at Adam, who was still standing with his arms crossed. His eyes widened. "Oh, uh..." he struggled to think of something to say. "Yeah, you, uh, you're fucking... amazing."

Ron looked over and smiled. "Gahhh... you guys put entirely too much faith in me. But hey! This pity fiesta is over. Someone help me find my hoodie."

As Adam and Tim began turning over piles of clothing in search of Ron's favored Dinosaur Jr. hoodie, Felix whispered to Ron, "You said you were having a good dream?" A smirk grew over the bottom half of his face. "Was it... _that_ kind of dreeeeam?"

Ron struggled to keep from blushing. "Yes, you... clown ass. Wipe the stupid smile off your face..." Avoiding eye contact with the grinning man behind him, Ron couldn't keep from smiling at the memory. "It was the one with the redhead again."

Felix's eyes widened at the mention. "Jesus, what is that now? Four times this week?"

Ron's grin grew wider. The dreams had been coming every few nights since he first saw her at a show a month ago. The band had been in the middle of a blistering run through the Dismemberment Plan's "I Love A Magician" when she caught his eye from the back of the room. Her hair had been matted with sweat, a broad strand hanging over her right eye like some out of place poster-child for unattainable beauty. Probably sick of dealing with her hair in the mob, she had been in the middle of putting it up in a ponytail when he caught his glance. Her eyes were emerald green, the color of a rain forest after a brief summer storm. Her hair was the color of cool embers, a mane of burning intensity that perfectly counterbalanced the entrancing sheen of her eyes. Ron became a hopelessly distracted mess and would have ruined the song entirely if not for his band mates recognizing what was happening—the collective being all-too-familiar with Ron's "ensnared" expression—and improvising an all-new outro for the song.

It wasn't a rare occurrence to spot a gorgeous woman across the crowd and lose track of the job at hand. Adam called it "Stage Flight" and it happened to everyone in the band at least once every handful of shows. But what Ron had experienced was something else entirely. He hadn't just let some girl in the audience catch his eye, he had developed a sad personal fascination. He began hoping she'd show up to every gig, patiently watching the front door during sound checks and waiting for her to walk through. The dreams had started that night, and only became more heated and intense with each successive no-show.

Ron had even written a song about her. Playing it on guitar for Adam one night while they sat around drinking and playing video games, the response received was "shows promise, needs more balls."

"Hey Stinky," Adam called over. "Found your sweat-stain." He threw the hoodie to Ron. "Oh, I'm sorry, sweater."

Ron sighed and pulled his arms through the sleeves of his admittedly well-worn shirt. "Hey now, don't diss the shirt. This was the one I wore when we got our first gig." Smelling the collar, he reeled back with mild disgust. "It's a... a good luck charm," he said, as if trying to assure himself just as much as Adam.

"I say you go with a button-up shirt," suggested Tim, tossing Ron a plaid purple dress shirt. "Look presentable. Hell, what if your dream girl shows up?"

"Yeah!" joined Felix, also eager to avoid another post-concert night of suffering the stain-riddled sweater's stench. "You don't want to meet your future wife smelling like some truck driver's taint, right?"

Ron pulled off the beloved sweater, their arguments making all too great a point. "Fair enough."

"Okay loverboy," Felix began, as he wheeled toward the door. "Let's hop in the van. If we're going to make the show, meet your redheaded vision, and build ourselves some more street cred, we need to at least make it there on time."

And with that, the band mates dashed out of their joint townhouse and into the night.

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Sorry it's so short, but I basically want the next chapter to be a lot more and don't want to kick off this story with a single long-ass chapter.

If you enjoyed, please leave me a review! Even negative, tell me what I could improve (not that there's a lot to work with at this point, sorry)


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